


only the dead have seen the end of the war

by cosmicwritings



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Battle of Hogwarts, F/M, POV Hermione Granger, major character death im warning you now, mentions of blood and stuff etc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 19:50:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4405211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicwritings/pseuds/cosmicwritings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You didn't love him. You don't love him. But you feel a large part of you die when he did, you feel your heart simultaneously cracking every so often and hardening to stone.</p><p>(This isn't the end of the war, you think to yourself. You don't suppose you will ever get to the end of the war.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	only the dead have seen the end of the war

**Author's Note:**

> "Only the dead have seen the end of the war." - Pluto

Closing your eyes doesn't get rid of the memories. But opening them doesn't help either.

Holding your breath doesn't stop you thinking. But breathing seems so much harder.

Faking a smile doesn't make everything feel fine. But the muscles in your jaw ache and you suppose it's better than the alternative.

Every night you ask yourself why you do this, and the answer is always given before you even try to think about it.

It's because you've killed. It's because you died the day so many of your friends did, people you would once count as family died.

It's because he's dead.

And you couldn't save him.

***

The battle had been a blur. People say they can only remember snippets of it - the screaming, the bodies, and the blood. But you remember it all.

It takes a lot for you to admit it, to take a peg down on your pride, to just admit that you were damn well terrified.

(- It's a bit ironic, you think, because there's nothing else these days that you actually feel anymore but terrified.)

And you're so focused on helping Harry, on getting those Horcruxes, to put an end to this all. But there's so many things going on at once and it's all you can do to keep raising your wand.

You do not know who the first death you saw in the battle was. There's too many bodies, too many falling unconscious and getting hit by spells, that it is just too hard to see whom. Maybe it was a Death Eater. Maybe it was someone you once knew, a friend.

Protego charms are cast over and over again from your wand, but it's the first Avada Kedavra spell that rolls off your tongue as easily as a Stunning charm that baffles you. The mask has slipped off your attacker's face, and yet, you rather wish it didn't. Because you are not prepared to see the cruel eyes rolls into emptiness, not ready to see the wand clatter as his hand drops, not ready to see his body topple to the floor.

You do not like Yaxley. You positively hate him, for what he is (was) and what he has (had) done. But you did not want to kill him in the cold blood that you did.  
In that split-second, you turn to Harry and Ron to your side desperately. And you want to cry; you want to stop fighting just to cry, because you weren't meant to be like them. You weren't meant to kill. But your two best friends are still dueling and you realise this is a war. You have to do what you have to do to survive.

So your wand comes down again and again, the Killing curse slipping off your tongue like raindrops off flower petals. You cannot remember when it became easier to do it. All you remember feeling is a heavy stone where your heart should have been.

Somewhere along the way, the three of you get separated. There are gashes on your face, strands from your hair singed, soot marking up your arms- and still, you fight and you fight. Every time you turn around, you see more people falling, and more taking their place. And it's gruesome, far too gruesome, the deaths you see. Because, dear Merlin, those were your friends, those were people you used to talk to, and those are parts of their bodies that you stumble over. Those are the blood they spilled that you slip over.

(You are just children, you should not be witnessing these things. But you were children that were forced to grow up too early.)

And there's a flash of blonde that catches your eye. Instantly, you know it's him - grown so accustomed to seeing it such a regular basis when you shared the same Order hideout. He was not good, you know that, but he wasn't bad either, and that was enough to keep you going. He's breathing heavily, and there's blood staining his robes, and you're pretty sure that his shoulder is dislocated by the look of it, but he's still raising his wand, and he's still fighting. Just like you. It takes a moment to send a spell to throw off your attackers (Avada Kedavra, Avada Kedavra, Avada Kedavra), and your mouth has only half opened to shout the word "Malfoy!" before you see his luck ran out.

The Disarming spell thrown his way is too much, and he tries to duck, but he's on the floor by then. You see the green jet of light hit him and you send your own towards his masked Death Eater, but you know it's too late already. But then - but then - he rolls out of the way with a grunt of pain, and the spell slides past him just as yours hits its target, and you are rushing to his side in no time.

"What - are - you - doing - Granger?" he spits out when you've reached his side. His left hand (the dislocated arm lay uselessly to his side) is clutched over his chest, attempting to staunch the bleeding out of a gaping wound that looks far too deep.

"Saving your life," you snarl back and you both half-drag yourselves behind a fallen gargoyle, not big enough to conceal you both but enough to give you both time. Your wand is already ready, muttering spells urgently under your breath, and you try to stop the bleeding, and you're trying to save him.

But the blood - there is just too much blood, and he's already getting dizzy. His eyes try so hard to stay alert, but his limbs are growing weaker. He's losing too much blood, and your mind is screaming that there is nothing you can do to stop it.

"Stay with me," you keep telling him desperately when his eyelids continuing falling forwards, and the spells you keep using just don't seem to be working. You are not a healer, you only know the basics, and the fact keeps hitting you:

You cannot save him. You cannot save him. You cannot save him.

So all you can do is kneel by his side as you uselessly keep trying to heal him, as he gets weaker and weaker.

He looks at you one last time before his eyes fall shut completely, and you see his grey eyes fall on your face tiredly as he says, "Stay alive, Granger."

And then he's gone.

He's gone.

***

You didn't love him. You don't love him. But you feel a large part of you die when he did, you feel your heart simultaneously cracking every so often and hardening to stone.

(This isn't the end of the war, you think to yourself. You don't suppose you will ever get to the end of the war.)


End file.
